


Got A Bite Worse Than Bark

by Land_Under_Sea (ind1go_ink)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alpha on Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Blood Gulch Chronicles, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Dubious Morality, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Omega on Omega, Oral Knotting, Orgy, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Project Freelancer, References to Knotting, Rimming, Scenting, Slow Build, Timeskips, Underwear Kink, Voyeurism, Women's Underwear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ind1go_ink/pseuds/Land_Under_Sea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker presents, and Caboose saves the day.<br/>While at Red Base, Sarge and Grif butt heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Gulch Chronicles I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I feel I've come on /really/ strong in terms of the dynamics but oh well! First RvB fic, and first Alpha/Omega fic. Feel free to comment! It really helps give me direction.

The sun had just broken over the horizon when a mildly disturbed scream echoed from the blue base perched at one end of a box canyon, shattering the seemingly peaceful atmosphere of the new dawn.

“Fuuuuuuck!” It went.

The source of the scream raised a trembling hand to his face, a sheen of sweat over his dark skin. It reflected in the mirror of the shared showers, as Tucker stood with his legs spread as far as he could without the towel around his waist falling off. He glared at his hand, barely taking notice of Church’s yelling about it being too early and his sworn oath of vengeance for whoever had woken him up.

It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder, making him look up from the smear of liquid on his hand, that he actually said something.

“I’m a fucking soldier! I’m not supposed to be a god damn _Omega_!” He fumed, scowling at Sister.

“Dude, chill out. That scream was hardcore but presenting as an Omega is nothing to wake _everyone_ up about…But hey! I’m an Omega too!” She slapped him on the back, nearly making him fall over for his weak limbs. Pain was starting to blossom through his muscles, each nerve lighting with sharp hot stabs. “We can be Omega pals, bro.”

“Cool,” He distractedly hitched his towel higher on his hips when he realised Church was standing in the doorway to the shower room, eyeing him with a bloodshot, but blazing gaze.

“Black forest chocolate cake.” He muttered, a lascivious laziness to his tone that made Tucker’s knees knock despite the uncomfortable slick feeling between his legs. A breeze filled the air around him with Church’s scent, an overwhelming deluge of vanilla shortbread that immediately blotted out all of his pain. He nearly keeled over as the scent assaulted his nose, begging to be inhaled deeper, _licked_ at, his vision blurring around the edges even as an insistent voice started in his head; _Lust. Need. Submit._

“What?” His eyes threatening to roll back into his head as Church stepped closer. Through the haze he saw Church hands reach out, even as Kai tried to step in his way, but a gaze full of unbridled power was turned on her and she stepped back, her eyes and head lowering in submission, head tilting slightly as a whine left her throat.

“Your scent. You’re an Omega… Figures. You’re just the type.” A hand pressed flat against his chest, pinning him to the counter. Church tilted his head, his tongue flicking against his lower lip as he sniffed, long and deep but soundlessly, a puff of air brushing against Tucker’s cheek as he sighed out.

Despite himself Tucker let out a little moan, the full scent of vanilla confection overwhelming his senses, driving him almost to his knees, his hands clutching tightly at the counter the only limbs holding him up.

_Submit. On your knees. Show him what a soldier can do._

“Church!”

The haze was cut through as Church was jerked away, letting Tucker slip to the floor, vision slowly refocusing as he made small distressed noises in the back of his throat - so unlike his normal voice that he barely recognised he was doing it.

“You do not do that to Tucker!” Caboose’s voice rang loud in the small space, helping to cut through the fog even more. Tucker pushed himself up, mercifully his towel hadn’t slipped too far off him, so he clutched it to himself as he watched Caboose herd Church out of the room. The rookie nearly pushing him even as Church growled, low and deep in his chest, making both Kai and Tucker duck their heads, chitters bubbling in their throats. But the Alpha went, not without complaint. Caboose shut the door in his face, bolting it closed before turning to Tucker.

“That was close!” The Beta exclaimed, hurrying over to his teammate and helping him up.

“Caboose,” Tucker waved him off, leaning on the counter heavily as Kai came to his other side, directing a glare at the door.

“What a dick!” She spat, the flush of her cheeks fading. “Pulling his rank on us. That’s bullshit.”

Tucker shrugged it off, an easy smile forming even as his gut twisted. He’d come so close to just… giving in. It was so unusual for him that it left him feeling dirty. “Whatever guys, it’s over now.” He tried not to make noise as a wave of pain crashed over him, but Caboose was looking him over, delicately sniffing. Even Kai looked worried. The pain oozed from him in waves, his fresh scent clogged with it.

When Kai’s hand went to his dreads, fingers trailing over the knotted hair, a thumb rubbing just behind his ear, a sense of calm struck Tucker’s core, his pain easing slightly as he let out a grunt.

“My mom used to do this for me when I presented,” She said slowly, her peach raspberry scent slowly flowing over the remains of sticky vanilla sweetness. “It helped a lot.”

Tucker nodded, letting himself sink back further against the sink.

“Tucker,” Caboose began, his eyes narrowing as he heard a knock on the door. “Go away!” He shouted at the door.

There was a sigh.

“Let me in, you idiot.” It was Tex.

Another Alpha. Tucker swallowed hard, ignoring how already he could smell the apple cinnamon wafting through the cracks in the door.

“Let her in, Caboose.”

“But-” Caboose protested.

“Just do it.” Tucker said.

He relented, opening the door slowly. Tex waited till she had enough space to get through before going straight for Tucker, her scent enveloping him, but there was no aggression, no desire to submit to be knotted, rather all he felt was comfort, the sense of being swathed in a bundle of blankets and rocked to sleep. He fell into her arms, eyelids drooping.

“You both have kept him standing too long,” She snapped, mild annoyance tinging her scent somewhat sour. “He needs rest. Kai, grab some heat compression pads, and some slick pads. Caboose…”

“Yes, Tex?” He was staring out of the window, eyes unfocused. She waved a hand that wasn’t supporting Tucker in front of his face.

“I need you to keep Church out of the bunks, maybe ask him if you two can do some shooting practice.”

“I got something to shoot,” Tucker murmured, a lazy smile emerging. “Bow chika-” At the tight grip Tex had on his arm he snapped his mouth shut.

“And you,” She looked down at Tucker who could barely raise his head enough to look at her. “You should have come straight to me.”

Even though his head felt full of pleasant warm cotton wool, his face twisted in confusion. “Why you? What experience do you have?”

Tex didn’t answer, merely lifting his weight with ease and slinging Tucker’s arm over her shoulder. “Let’s get you to your bunk. The next few days are going to be tough on you.” She murmured.

 

*******

 

On the other side of the box canyon, the red base was in havoc.

“Doc, help!” Simmons squawked, shaking his team mate. Doc opened his eyes slowly, a scowl plastered to his brow as O’Malley muttered his displeasure at being woken up, but then Simmons’ scent booted his split brain, even if he was a Beta - less adapted to the hormones that made up Alpha/Omega chemistry, less in tune to the order of ranks - he knew Simmons was distressed. His usual scent of fresh paint had turned old, musty. It hit the nostrils like a blow, a bite with no end. Doc pushed himself off his bunk, eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” He said urgently.

“It’s Sarge and Grif!” Simmons pulled at him, dragging Doc down the corridor to the garage. “I think they’re… fighting…” He slowed, eyes glazing over. “ _Oh._ ” He walked forward as if pulled by his nose, the off paint smell fading into a hazy fume of desire. Doc rubbed at his face, pushing past Simmons, before getting hit in the face with pheromones. Lust, dominance, and anger all alerted him. He shoved the door to the garage open, eyes widening as the scents of campfire smoke and just-baked cookies strengthened and mingled. It was like a campfire oven baking freshly made cookie dough. Sarge had Grif by the back of the neck, hands holding him down by the shoulders, straddling his back, canines bared as he struck - biting Grif on the back of the neck.

Simmons let out a faint whimper behind Doc.

“Woah!” Doc approached the two Alphas, hands raised as a sign of peace. “What’s going on here, guys?”

“Sarge is a fucking asshole!” Grif spat, wriggling in the older Alpha’s hold. Despite appearances, he had a bit of strength to him as he threw the other man off him, panting, arousal pouring off him in waves but no one took notice. Sarge reeled back a couple of steps, a snarl echoing low through the room.

“You challenged me boy!” He growled.

“You were gonna eat the last Twinkie, dickface!” Grif shouted back, lunging at the other Alpha, a hand smacking him on the jaw, the other aiming a punch for his stomach. The older man twisted out of the way as his teeth clacked, bringing an elbow down on Grif’s back, flooring the younger.

“Food is the only thing on your brain, you insubordinate pile of worm droppings.” Sarge leaned over him, fisting a hand in his hair and pulling. Hard. Grif yelped, his eyes narrowing. “Submit.” The older man snarled, canines flashing.

“Never.” Grif cursed. Sarge let his hair go in disgust, stepping back with a grimace.

“Don’t know why I bother.” He muttered.

Doc chewed at his lip, looking between the two of them. “Well look, why don’t we just go our separate ways, maybe, and take a few minutes to calm down?” He didn’t miss the high pitched, _needy_ whine from Simmons, who was hovering in the doorway, looking flushed and distinctly jittery. “Maybe, uh, Grif you could look after Simmons?”

With the way Grif’s eyes widened at the full blown fresh paint smell that was blooming through the room, you would have mistaken his look as one of displeasure, but he trailed over to Simmons, grabbing the shaking Omega by the hand and pulling him down the corridors to the bunks. Doc turned his mind from that scenario, and instead focused on Sarge, who still looked ready to take on the world, a vein throbbing in his neck.

“Sarge?” Doc started.

“Don’t you start on me, son.” The Commander of their team crouched, settling back on his haunches with a huff. “Just give me a minute, and then we can go take on them dang dirty Blues. Minus Simmons and that waste of breath.”

Doc just counted it lucky that Donut hadn’t yet woken up from his beauty sleep.


	2. Project Freelancer I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York and Carolina get personal, Wash listens in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Smut times ahead, also INDIRECT VOUYERISM.  
> So if that's not your thing, then don't subject yourself to it, please, for both our sakes.

Cut to the Mother of Invention.

Hovering above a planet, just out of reach of it’s stratosphere, just far enough away that the hulking ship wouldn’t get pulled down by the gravity, but close enough that drop ships could reach it in twenty minutes tops.

***

York grinned across the table at North. His playing cards were an inch away from his face.

“You’re bluffing,” North stated calmly. York’s face fell, and he threw his cards down with a look of disgust.

“You and your empathy.” York grinned though, shooting a look to the door that slid open. Carolina walked through it, a vaguely annoyed expression on her face, mirroring the stale lake smell that surrounded her.

York raised an eyebrow. “You seem occupied.”

Carolina levelled him with a glare, then sighed. “Things got a little heavy with The Director.”

“I still can’t believe you demanded two AI from him.” York commented, folding his arms across his chest plate.

“Well,” Carolina stood at the foot of the table, gazing at the both of them. “You have to do whatever it takes to be the best.”

Neither male was stupid enough to bring up the fact that even with two AI, Carolina might not have been able to beat their current best; Texas.

“How’s South taking it, bud?” York nodded at North, who grimaced.

“She’s still seething away. I wish you had just waited, ‘Lina. But I understand why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

Carolina flashed some canine at that, her eyes narrowing. “No, you really don’t understand.” Her scent was building, a tang of static hitting their senses. A storm ready to boil over. York bowed his head, his bad eye rolling in it’s socket, the scarred flesh around his eye that stretched across his cheek shifted as his mouth pulled down at the corners.

North looked between them, his Beta senses coming into play. Here was an Omega who was possibly the most relaxed person he’d met, and a testy, ready to explode, Alpha.

“I’m just,” North cleared his throat. “Gonna go check up on South. See if she needs anymore carathisis.”

“Jesus, you let her beat on you?” York looked at him with a grateful eye, and a smirk.

“You gotta do what you gotta do, right ‘Lina?”

She was staring out of a port window, but pinned North with her gaze, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there was gratitude there too. “Yeah. See you round, North.”

He nodded, and removed himself. There was no need for an extra body if they wanted some alone time, not that many Freelancers actually used the rec room. Aside from Wash, but North hoped he’d get the point and leave well enough alone.

Once they both heard the compression hiss and the door click into place, York stood, his gaze softer, his voice soft too, when he spoke.

“Was it really that bad?”

Carolina smiled bitterly, her storm-filled scent settling to the usual after-rain, wet earth smell. “It was pretty bad, yeah.”

York walked over to her, slinging an arm around her waist, pulling her gently to the only couch in the room, his butterscotch scent clinging to her armour. He stood her in front of the couch, closing in by only a few inches, enough to hook his other arm around her waist.

“What are you doing?” She seemed amused, but at the question in his eye, she nodded. A modicum of trust between them was needed at all times, and trust York Carolina did. It worked the other way too. Not just because of the exchange of pheromones between them.

With that confirmation, York began peeling off her armour, bit by bit, slowly and surprisingly delicate, and as each piece of lightweight carbon fiber hit the floor with a clang, their scents mingled and filled the room, sweet rich earthiness that made their mouths water and each moment feel alive. Once he’d removed her armour, leaving her in a black long sleeved shirt and leggings, he removed his armour with much less reverence. York, too, was kitted out in black thermals that went from his neck to his ankles.

He took her in his arms again, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple as her head rested on his shoulder.

“Now I know you like a challenge,” York said quietly, brushing a hand through her ponytail and gently removing the hair tie. “So I want you to take me. Like we normally do, you know.”

Carolina considered this, raising her head to stare at York. “No.” She murmured. “This time I want you to do the work.” It was more of an order than a suggestion, always said in that tone that knew exactly how to hit York right in his gut.

***

When Washington roamed the corridors at night, it could be said that it was due to the fact that his roommate - Maine, an overbearing yet stoic Alpha - snored like nails on a chalkboard. And more often than not, he’d always end up drifting towards the rec room. It was quiet, most of the time empty, and a place he could relax, or if he really need to, let off some steam. On occasion he’d even find York up, with worn eyes and an equally worn smile. So it was with a blank mind that he wandered the corridors, up and down, and around and around, till he ended up by the rec room. He considered a lazy session, but brushed it aside. It could wait a few days. It was only the wall of pheromones hitting him, and the faint noises echoing in the cramped corridor, that made him aware of anything that was going on.

The youngest Freelancer stopped, inhaled deeply and shuddered, a silent moan passing his lips. He edged closer to the rec room door, following the scents that were melded together by desire and heat, deeply sweet and tangy, he found himself drawn to it. He pressed an ear to the door, where the faint sounds became muffled moans and sighs. Thrill trickled through him, stirring heat deep within his gut where it spilled over almost instantly, soaking into his legs and he leaned more carefully on the door and sat cross legged, back propped against the chilled metal and head turned so he could hear properly.

The sounds, god, he took a shaky breath, eyes closing as his brain played out the scene. _Carolina, beneath York. His head between her thighs. Sweat glistening on the both of them. God, they probably used that old couch Wash used when he was feeling particularly frustrated._

Almost without thought, as his own scent - coffee with a heavy dollop of cream - melted into arousal, he began stroking himself through his grey sweatpants.

 _York, plunging deep into Carolina, her nails digging into his soft supple back the only way an Alpha’s could, her fierce gaze on his loving one, her biting deep into his scent glands, marking his skin as he fucked into her, slow and deep_ \- The moaning picked up, and the faintest slap of flesh could be heard, making Wash’s breath hitch in his throat, his cock filling out almost immediately to the sound - _But now fast and hard and so rough it made the couch springs creak, Carolina biting hard into York’s shoulder to stop her growls_. Omega’s couldn’t knot but Wash knew with a shivering certainty this wasn’t about dominance or breeding as he reached under his waistband to better feel the friction of his palm against himself. _The pace evened out, their mixed breathing harsh and loud in the small room, sweat staining their bodies, Carolina would dig her nails into York’s hips, set the pace herself, feel full of her sweet Omega’s cock, each time he bottomed out inside her her moans would come a little louder, a little sweeter. There was no challenge, but that was what made it perfect, no resistance, no force pushing her back. Having this all to herself._

Wash moaned lowly as the slap of skin on skin resumed, his hand moving faster. _How close were they? From Carolina’s wanton moans and York’s hushed breathless curses, they were close. York’s head buried in the crook of Carolina’s shoulder, Carolina’s mindlessly nipping at whatever skin she could reach with the need to **claim** and **own**._

Then the unmistakable “Good Omega” growl that made Wash come without a thought, his orgasm flooding his body for a minute second with a grunt and then he was left sitting spread eagled, with rapidly cooling spunk in his boxers that was coating his softening cock, and a spike of alarm as he heard movement on the other side of the door.

He scampered away to his room, reeking of shame and arousal still. Maine only leering at him with a gleeful snarl as he stalked to his bed and replayed the events in his mind to fall asleep to.


	3. Blood Gulch Chronicles II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut has an awkward encounter, while Church and Tex face off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know most of you probably read this for the smut so *shrugs* enjoy!   
> And feel free to comment!

It wasn’t that Simmons hated Omegas, or even the status. Being more in tune to the needs of others, more empathetic, even more supple and soft as their genes dictated when they presented was all well and good with him. What didn’t settle right in his stomach was the idea that there existed, somewhere in the universe, Alpha’s that still thought that Omega’s were nothing better than breeding lumps of meat, to own and control. Sure, Omegan history hadn’t had the best wrap - slavery, prostitution, sex trafficking, being used as Alpha’s _playthings_ \- that kind of thing had long been demolished. But he still was unnerved that people had that mindset, that they could be so _backward_.

His mind wasn’t on that at that moment, rather he was entirely focused on the mouth that was suckling on it’s way down his spine, and the hand stroking him in a solid kind of way that had his thighs trembling with meaningless words dripping from his mouth. Here was an Alpha who knew how to treat his Omega _right_ and when said Alpha swiped a hot tongue across his slick hole, he near collapsed on his bunk, sweat beading along his hairline.

“P-Please, Grif,” He whined, wiggling his hips slightly, the rumbling growl Grif made making him all the more determined to make the Alpha find his release. Sure, being looked after was nice, and getting rimmed till he couldn’t see straight was on his list of pleasures counted as ‘Out of this World’ but he knew Grif needed to let some steam off, that sometimes it was better to be practical than giving in to his hormones.

“C’mon,” He sighed out, pushing himself up so that his back arched further, blushing despite himself. “Grif. Use me.”

Grif’s arms hugged his torso, flipping him over with ease so that when Simmons looked at the swollen cock hanging between Grif’s thighs, he gasped. He’d already popped a knot.

“Don’t say a word, Simmons,” Grif threatened, a heavy hand circling the head of Simmon’s cock, a rough thumbpad tracing along his slit. Simmons’ hips bucked, a breathy moan catching in his throat.

“Just-” Simmons protested, but lost the fight when Grif leant down and kissed him hard, teeth nipping at his lower lip. Grif smirked as he pulled away, lifting Simmons with ease so that he could slide under him, the Omega’s back pressed to his chest.

“Grind on me, baby.” Grif muttered against the back of his neck, breathing hard on the patch of sensitive skin, Simmons whining as his back arched involuntarily, hips moving automatically with the command, Grif groaning at the friction, biting across Simmons’ shoulders.

That’s when Donut woke up, his pink beauty mask still covering his eyes. He sniffed the air once and yelped, tumbling out of his bed, his sheets catching around his ankles as he bolted from the room, his beauty mask still covering his eyes.

 

*******

 

Tex helped Tucker to his bunk, wondering briefly if the military even stocked scent-neutralising sheets and suppressants, not that it would do the kid any good now that his hormones had kicked in. As she eased Tucker into his bunk, turning to go and find any and all scent blocking equipment, Tucker groaned.

“Where are you going, Tex?”

His voice sounded small, fragile, and when she turned to look at him, his eyes were glistening under the fluorescent lights, whether from unshed tears or the fever, Tex wasn’t sure, but she placed her fingers on his forehead, his sweat making his skin sticky to the touch. It burned against her fingers, and she almost swore.

“I’m just getting some supplies.” She said sharply, trusting that Tucker would pay more heed to the Alpha command in her words. He nodded, head lolling against the pillow.

“Do I look like shit?” He whispered as she was about to leave. Tex turned, training her gaze on the Omega. He looked like the bottom of a cesspool, but that was normal. A slight grin tugged at her lips.  
“You look like a hot fucking mess.”

Tucker smiled, eyes closing. “Good.”

Tex rushed through the base, grabbing supplies as she went, piling them into a crate she’d grabbed from cargo. Sealed water bottles - the tap water tasted foul on good days and she knew how sensitive Omega’s got about _everything_ during the Change - a small bottle of suppressants, an assortment of towels, a couple of broth cubes and a gas cooker, a couple of canisters of gas to go along with it. She wasn’t risking Tucker leaving his bunk. Even though their armour had scent filters that dampened the scents to the lowest degree, she couldn’t trust after-hours when everyone wandered around in tank tops and sweats that there wouldn’t be someone curious about their latest addition.

She wasn’t a pack-Alpha, not even an Alpha that felt a particular way about Tucker, aside from that he was an infuriating little shit but she knew how taking care of an Omega was done. She knew the protocol and she knew how the military treated Omegas that presented while on tour - lock them away in solitary till the fever passed or they died, one meal a day, no carers or help - so she made it her mission to make sure word wouldn’t get out about Tucker, and during her time with the Freelancers, she’d made sure some of the team hadn’t been sent away either.

She knew Church had no idea about what it was like to deal with Changing Omega’s, that his Alpha blood would take over and he’d be helpless when the Omega _begged_ to be bonded, to be knotted and bred like their genes demanded of them. She only hoped he’d keep a cool enough head and stay away from both her and Tucker. She didn’t want things to get _nasty_.

As she entered the mess hall and caught sight of Church, though, she had the sinking feeling that things were going to get nasty very quickly.

She was right.

“You stink of him, Tex.” Church’s comment was casual, but Tex could hear the snarl behind it, coating his words in aggression.

“Is that any surprise?” She countered, irritation already pricking under her skin. Couldn’t _one_ thing just go right for once in her life?

“Oh? Not really, I’m sure he’s been getting his little Omega cock wet with _my_ girlfriend.” This time the snarl was there, dripping off the end of his sentence. Tex whipped around from where she was grabbing packs of trail mix.

“You want to say that again, Church?” She snapped. “Get your fucking head on straight and stop listening to your damn blood.”

“Bitch,” He shot back, lips curling back into a sneer.

“Are you really gonna do this now?” She sighed, her senses sharpened as adrenaline bubbled in her system.

“Yeah, I am.” Church growled, standing from where he’d been sitting with Caboose, who looked between the two of them and backed away, watching from the doorway.

“What’s your damn problem, Leonard?” She glared, advancing on him, placing the packs of food in the crate as she went. “Too insecure? Am I too much of a challenge for you?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t gone sleeping around with all those tools and seen what was right in front of you…” Church stood tall, eyes narrowed.

He had no chance.

Tex tackled him to the ground, a solid punch landing on his jaw as she ripped into his shoulder with her teeth. Tex might have been all about practicality in fighting, but this was a fight of old feelings and boiling blood, pain _needed_ to be inflicted. Blood seeped into her mouth while her fists and feet hit as hard as she could, grappling with Church when he tried to manoeuvre out from under her. She reared back, aiming a jab at her ex lover’s thigh, her right arm pressed tight against his throat. She grabbed his arm and twisted hard, an echoing crack leaving it useless and flopping, a horrible parody of a puppet on marionette strings. He gurgled out an inaudible insult, crying out as the heel of her other hand struck his nose. There was a crunch and Church fell limp, blood seeping out of his nostrils, his vanilla scent turned sickly sweet, like it could clog the throat with sugar. It left Tex wheezing slightly against the scent she used to find so alluring and comforting. Blood soaked his mangled shoulder and upper lip, trickling down into the lines of the corners of his mouth.

“Who is the Alpha?” Tex thundered, standing over him, knowing it was necessary but feeling her throat constrict.

Church stared at her with pain-clouded eyes, his eyelids were mere slits. “You are.” He hissed, his eyes never leaving her face as she walked away.


	4. Project Freelancer II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York gets to the bottom of Wash's behaviour.

It was two weeks of skipping out of meals earlier than usual and dodging questions like they were bullets for Wash. Maine would only snigger when the others asked him what was up with the youngest Freelancer. York took it as a personal offence when Wash turned him down to a night of horror movies with poorly babbled excuses and stuttered sentences. Carolina saw red when Wash refused a direct order to take cover because it meant being near her. CT watched the Omega from the sidelines, knowing eyes tracking his every move. North pondered on his mental state, while South snorted at the whole attitude change.

“Maybe he’s got a girl on the side.” She commented, throwing her stress ball up into the air before catching it with practised ease. The Alpha was lying on her bed, facing the ceiling. North was pacing between their beds - the two shared a room - with his eyebrows furrowed.

“That’s not like him though,” North said, stopping to lean against the nearest wall, arms folded across his chest.

“What, Wash not fucking someone?” South drawled, pushing herself up on her elbows to raise an eyebrow at her brother.

“No, not that, South,” North sighed, running a hand over his face. “Keeping secrets.”

“Oh,” South looked vaguely disappointed. “Well he could still be fuckin’ someone.”

North chuckled. “Yes, he could. But why would he keep it a secret?”

“Maybe she’s _really_ ugly!” South said gleefully.

“Now South, don’t get your underwear up your ass because you don’t get it on the regular.” York stood in the doorway, his eyebrow raised with a smirk.

South glared at him. “Who’s to say I don’t, Omega? Who’s to say you _do_?”

North avoided York’s eyes, but York only laughed, walking forward to sling an arm around North’s shoulder, giving him a little shake. “I’m just joking, Twin Two. Relax. I’m just as concerned about Wash as you are North, and I gotta admit it’s starting to look more and more like South is right.”

North’s mouth twitched. “What makes you say that?”

“Have you seen the guy?! Have you even looked at how he’s behaving!” York grabbed North by both shoulders, shaking him a little more aggressively. “Guy goes before dinner is barely started, he’s dodging _all_ of us. Except Maine, and Tex. And have you caught a whiff of his scent lately? All buzzed! Shame, lust,” The only one who noticed York’s shiver was North, and the Beta eyed the Omega, thoughts starting to stir. “Euphoria. I think what’s happening is pretty clear, even if he doesn’t have any other scent on him.”

“What do you think is happening?” South bared her teeth, whether in challenge or excitement, the other Freelancers weren’t really sure.

“I think you’re right, but you’re approaching it the wrong way,” York chittered. “I think he’s _getting_ fucked.”

 

*******

 

Wash considered it lucky that their helmets had built in audio players. It meant that during evacs and drops he could quietly jam out without it being known to the others. It never helped that whenever someone used the radio to speak to the team, or just him alone, it cut the music out but that was something he learnt to live with. Plus the idea that anyone would know about his eclectic music collection was mortifying.

So that was how Carolina found him, his helmet hooked up to the rec room speakers, music blasting through the room, him dancing around in sweats and a t-shirt. Only the hiss of the compression lock warned Wash that he wasn’t alone before Carolina was far too close for comfort, anger flooding her scent like a dam ready to burst. Wash’s coffee scent turned bitter as he shrank back from Carolina’s glare.

“I don’t care about your personal life, Washington,” She began. “I don’t care what you’re doing, when you’re doing it, I don’t give a fuck about who you’re doing. But if you think that you can continue whatever you’re doing without it _affecting_ the mission, then you have to stop.”

Wash’s eyebrows furrowed, but Carolina disregarded his confused look.

“Get your head in the game, Wash.” Her voice softened, and she stepped back, running a hand through her hair with a sigh. “I have to come on strong so you can get it through your head that whoever you’re fucking around with, they’re not good for you. They are jeopardising everything we’re working for all because you feel the need to keep a secret from your team.”

“Wait,” Wash said, tilting his head. “You think?” And he began to laugh, harsh short chuckles that had Carolina staring at him in total confusion as he hunched over, eye squeezed shut, wheezing for air.

“What?” She snapped.

Wash took a few hulking gasps for air, his lips twitching. “You think I’m fucking someone?”

“York said-”

“Oh, and you’re gonna believe York?”

“Well we are-”

“Are what?”

Carolina glared. “Nothing to you.”

Wash grinned in return, a gleam in his eyes. “You actually think I have enough game to get with anyone on this damn ship? You think I’ve been fucking who? South?! She’s as butch as a lumberjack, Carolina. CT?! She’s too hot and cold for someone like me.” Wash leaned against the counter, eyes dropping to the floor, voice softening. “No. I’m not fucking anyone, Carolina.”

“I don’t care what it is, Wash. Just stop letting it fuck with your head. The mission is important. More than whatever it is you’re dealing with right now.”

“Understood.”

 

*******

 

Wash cornered York as he was leaving the dining hall, grabbing his fellow Omega and pulling him down the corridor to his room.

“Wash, man, what’s this about?” York said as they went. Wash didn’t answer him, choosing to shove him into his room, before following, locking the door behind him. Maine’s musk clung to the air - petrol - and shrouded the faint hints of coffee that flowed through the room.

“Why do you think I’m fucking someone?” Wash’s voice was strained, his mouth drawing into a snarl that was unusual for an Omega.

York eyed him, brows drawing together. “Who told you, bud?”

“Don’t _bud_ me, York,” Wash started forward, invading the other Freelancer’s space. “Tell me what you think you know.”

York held his hands up, a gesture of peace. It looked as though the other Omega was about to rip his throat out.

“Look, I guessed that was what was happening because of, well, your scent… And how you’ve been acting.”

Wash drew back, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been scenting me?”

“No! God no!” York’s eye widened, and he laughed nervously. “No. Jesus, Wash. It’s not hard to smell what state you’re in. As for how you’re acting, well let’s just say this is the first time you’ve spoken to me directly for two weeks or so. It’s not hard to think you’ve been on the down low with someone.”

Wash sat on his bunk heavily, the springs in his mattress creaking, resting his head in his hands. “Carolina was right…”

“Carolina?” York said sharply, gazing at Wash.

“Yeah, she told me,” Wash shot him a sardonic grin. “Thinks I need to get my head in the game.”

York relaxed, but only marginally. “So what’s up man? What’s got you all jumpy?” _And horny_. York added silently in his head.

A moment of silence, then York noticed it. The flush creeping on Wash’s face, his scent melting and shifting from anger to, what? Desire, shame. It spoke volumes to York, the coffee scent sticking to his tongue and unravelling in his gut. A shudder passed through his frame but he ignored it, moving forward to sit next to Wash.

“You know you can tell me anything”

The proximity made Wash shoot up, eyes wide and blush covering his neck. “I can’t,” He said sharply.

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s… Embarrassing.”

“Wash, give it a rest. Just tell me!”

“I…” Wash fisted his hands in his hair, breathing hard through his nose, closing his eyes. “May… Have heard you and Carolina doing it a couple of weeks ago.”

York paused, screwed his face up in consideration, then start chuckling. “That’s seriously it? That’s what you’ve been all secretive about?”

Wash squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “Not exactly.”

That’s when it clicked in York’s brain.

“Woah,” He stared at Wash, who was beet red and had his hands clasped over his face. “You… Got turned on by it?”

Wash hung his head, his hands dropping to rest by his side.

“You got off to it?!” The yell echoed through the room and Wash leaped forward, pushing York over and holding his mouth closed.

“Shh!” Wash pleaded.

York shook his hands away, his eyes half lidded as he smirked at his friend. “You did. And hey Wash?”

Wash’s face was screwed up in panic, his shoulders hunched. “What?”

“Personal space is a thing.” York muttered, his hands gripping Wash’s shoulders, thumbs pressing against the tensed muscles, relaxing them.

Wash realised just how close they were and reeled back, stuttering apologies. York merely smiled.

“Listen, you have any other fetishes you want to try out.” York patted him on the back. “Let me and ‘Lina know, we’ll be happy to help you out.” He winked at the fellow Omega before unlocking the door and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a hiss that rang in Wash’s ears long after he’d gone.


	5. Blood Gulch Chronicles III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut needs some comfort, and Church learns to fight against his instincts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy! It has been a LONG while since I've touched this, so it might not be as fluid as it was before but! I have an actual plot for this AU? now so I should actually be able to update it more often now! (Also now that I've figured out what I want to do with my life, writing will actually be a lot easier I suspect!)

Things weren’t going well for Church.

Not when his semi-not really but kind of-girlfriend beat his ass into the dirt without a second thought for some puny whiny Omega. Not when said girlfriend had little to no self control about guys. Even Omegan males…

…

Especially Omegan males.

So he’d taken to the canyon in the hopes that perhaps the Reds could blow his ass skyhigh, since his reputation was in tatters already.

That was where Caboose found him, huddled on a ledge, surveying the Red base like a hawk, watching for any sign of movement.

“Church?” Caboose said softly.

Church’s helmet whipped around. For a few moments there was radio silence, Church observing Caboose while he fidgeted in place, itching to talk to the agitated Alpha.

“Church, I know Tex-” Caboose began before he was cut off.

“Shut up, Caboose. I don’t want to hear it, just leave me alone.”

“I can not do that, Church.” Caboose sat down next to the Blue leader, legs folded beneath himself.

Church didn’t reply, a faint rumble over the radio telling Caboose that the Alpha was quietly growling. He twisted his fingers together, staring over the cliff that overlooked the Red base. He noticed when the man ran out of the base - helmetless, with mussy blond hair flouncing as he ran - and he noticed when the purple man recoiled from the flying tackle, and he heard the shout echo across the canyon.

“Doc! Simmons and Grif, they!”

The red one, the leader, Caboose thought, whipped around with a ferocity that startled even Church.

Heated words appeared to be being exchanged between the three of the Reds, but where were the tall other Red one, and the gold one?

Caboose looked at Church, who appeared to be lost in his own world.

“Church?” He asked softly, reaching out and tapping the team leader on the shoulder.   
“Shhhhhhht!” Church hissed. “I wanna hear what they’re saying!”

Caboose sat back, humming under his breath. He waited, and waited. Church was slowly growing more and more elated. He could see it in the way he was crouching now, bouncing on the balls of his feets, rocking forward with garbled exclamations.

He reached for the Blue leader’s shoulder, tapping him again before recoiling back when Church turned on him with a snarl.

“Leave me alone, Caboose! Just fuck off!”

 

***

 

Donut was shaking, his glazed cherry scent so thick and rottingly sweet that Doc had to take a step back when he’d tried to cling onto him.   
“Oh Sarge, it was awful! Simmons was all ‘Oh Grif~’ and Grif!” Donut gave a horrified gasp. “He was being an actual  _ Alpha _ !”

Sarge’s scowl only deepened. “What’s that suppose to mean, Donut?”

Donut gave him a wide-eyed demure look. One that hid some serious knowledge behind it - a slyness that Sarge could only pinpoint if he tried really hard.

“He was being an Alpha.” Donut enunciated, drawing out the latter ‘a’ on Alpha. Sarge grunted his residing confusion, and Donut turned to Doc.

“This is all your fault.” He proclaimed.

“Mine?” Doc asked, genuinely perplexed.

“Yes, yours! You, with your Beta-ness!” Donut seemed to ruffle, not caring that he was helmetless, pink sleep mask hanging around his neck, thick cupid bow lips turning into what could be considered a pout if Doc didn’t have the distinct feeling that Donut could probably rip his arm off if he wanted to.

“What’s wrong with my being a Beta?” Doc dead-panned, feeling the familiar itch as O’Malley awoke in his mind.

“Because it’s all unbalanced!”

“How so?”

“Well, there’s Simmons and Grif, and Sarge, and me, and then you. There’s nowhere for you to fit in!”

Doc felt his brow furrow, his teeth grinding together. “I don’t need to fit in.” He said lowly, ignoring the manic laugh bubbling in his throat. 

“But you make things complicated.” Donut pointed out. Doc shrugged, noting that his faint mown grass scent was turning sour.   
“I don’t see how.”   
Sarge started in, puffing up his chest with a low rumble that warned the Omega away from the topic.

“Donut,” Sarge grunted. “I don’t think you’re right, Doc’s a Red. He belongs with us no matter what his status is.”

Donut shrugged it off. “Okay Sarge, but I still think something needs to be done about Grif and Simmons.” He looked pointedly at Doc, who rubbed at his temples before letting out a weary sigh and trudging back to the base, trailing a rankling too-sweet grass smell behind him.

Donut threw himself into Sarge’s arms as Doc made his departure, letting himself soak in the woodsmoke smell. It was comforting, like cuddling into his favourite blanket back home in Iowa.

“What are you doin’, private?” Sarge rumbled, standing like a board, hands clenched into fists by his sides.

“Just trying to relax.” Donut chittered. Sarge didn’t move, eyebrows creasing beneath his helmet.

“You can’t be that relaxed when I’m wearing my armour, son.” He stated. Donut shrugged in reply.

He just wanted to belong.

 

***

 

Church burst into the base, crowing. He threw off his helmet with a triumphant yell. “Grif and Simmons mated!” He hollered, before falling short, his brain catching up to the thick gooey smell he’d been inhaling for the past few seconds. The pheromones hit him like a brick to the chest, punching all of the air out of his lungs. Sweetness so rich and dark it felt as though it should be taboo met his senses, overwhelmed his mind. In his mind’s eye he could see Tucker, still shining from the shower, the glistening slick that trailed down his thighs begging to be lapped up, a new soft roundness to his body, his thighs thigh and plump, shoulders rounder than before. He shuddered in place, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

He’d smelt of need, of pure want. Church, in part, wanted to sink into the arousal the private’s scent gave off. But when Tucker rounded the corner, eyes glazed, sweat coating his skin, whines leaving his throat low and rough, stumbling and holding onto the wall - Church the leader took over. He reached for his teammate, making low shushing sounds as Tucker whimpered. He was shaking, the hands that held onto Church’s body were weak, pitiful.

“Chuuurch,” Tucker slurred, casting dazed eyes in his direction. He sniffed, not long and delicate, but short and loud. His pupils blew out in an instant, his grip becoming mildly stronger. “Need you.” Tucker hissed, pressing himself hard against Church, body slack but certain muscles twitching in such a way that meant that Church could smell it when the boy started slicking with no prompt but his Alpha scent.

“No,” He held Tucker away from him, the Omega scenting at the air in an undignified way, straining to press his nose closer to Church’s neck. “I’m taking you to Tex.”

“But I want  _ you _ .” Tucker murmured, letting himself be held up by Church as they made their way back to his room.

“Not right now, Tucker.” Church strained, canines flashing as he battled his raging libido. Tucker moaned as his hips shifted automatically when Church growled at himself.

“So wet,” Tucker whispered, eyelids drooping. “Too hot.”

“We’ll get you there soon, Tucker.” Church hissed. The trip to the isolated bunk seemed to take a millena to Church, not helped by the fact that Tucker seemed to be taking every chance he could get to feel him up, whether on purpose or not, Church didn’t care. By the time they reached Tucker’s doorway, his vision was going. Little black spots danced across his line of sight, and he knew he’d lose to himself if he stayed any longer. The bite Tex had given him still stung like a bitch, and he focused on that as Tucker pawed at him, whining and starting to beg. Oh god, the  _ begging _ .

Suddenly it made sense to Church just how Tucker had gotten all of those girls back on Earth. Not by begging outright, but by bargaining. The smooth fucker. He nearly shoved Tucker into the room but not before the stink of the room told him just how much he’d been missing on the cliff. The whole room reeked of Tucker, some of the Omegan scent smelling days old, but others, smelling so deeply new that Church felt as though Tucker has just been rutting into his mattress all day.

A brief flash of Tucker crossed his mind, fingers buried into his slick hole, crying out as he jerked himself off with his other hand. Church shook his head, trying to keep his breathing shallow. He needed Tex.

God, he needed Tex. He needed another Alpha.

And, like an angel answering his prayers, there she was, donned in casual clothes, hastily wiping sweat of her forehead before pushing past Church and dragging Tucker into the room and locking the door.

Church stood there, dumbfounded. All of his struggling against his libido seemed to melt away. She poked her head of the door, scowling.

“Meet me in the dining hall at six.” She snapped before slamming the door in his face.


	6. PF III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wash gets in over his head, and Carolina is acting a bit odd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating from my phone so lets see how awfully this formats shall we!

Agent Washington could say there were three definitive moments in his Freelancer career that changed his life. York constantly ribbing him about his moment of weakness, in Omegan camaraderie, was one of those moments.

“York, drop it.” He shoved at the other Omegan’s hand on his shoulder in frustration. They were alone, prepping for a mission the Director had seen fit to partner them on.

“What?” York’s teasing grin didn’t drop, and he didn’t falter. “I know you like me and all, but there’s no need to make it so obvious, Wash.”

Wash ground his teeth together as he strapped his chest piece on. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He tightened the clasps that held it together so that it fit snugly against his torso. York laughed, his bad eye staring blankly at his teammate. Wash inhaled a weary sigh, noticing with a faint twinge that he smelt like butterscotch candy, Wash’s favourite childhood sweet, with the faintest hint of rain soaking the earth. Carolina’s influence, of course.

“It’s been a week.” Wash snapped, shaking himself out of his reverie. “Let’s get this mission over and done with.”

It was a lie to say that it hadn’t stung a bit. The constant cajoling was wearing Wash down, his resolve to move past it and focus on being a great Freelancer was crippled by his late night thoughts.

  
Wondering if it truly was a joke. That York would be so cruel to him to constantly bring it up. He hadn’t wanted to let his feelings get so out of reach, but here he was. It meant he’d wake in the morning with deep dark bags under his eyes, bloodshot gaze staring up at the ceiling while Maine snored away in the next bed over.

He could feel the exhaustion of his attraction wearing away at his strength, his focus. He’d only come to attention if the Director expressly stood in front of him and gave him a meaningful glare. The others has all noticed how far he was slipping down the ranks, down the leaderboard.

It was ruining him as a Freelancer. A super soldier.

And yet. Wash had to lie to himself that his heart hadn’t jumped into his throat when the Director had levelled him with a guarded look and said York was going to be his partner, on a simple extraction mission as well.

That meant lots of small moments to talk. To sort through the shit mudding his mind and get it out to York. He didn’t appreciate being treated as a joke.

He pulled his helmet on with a faint smile, his eyes dull. This would be easy.

 

***

 

The mission had turned into a disaster. Every chance that Wash got, he tried to pull York to the side, tried to explain. But York brushed him off, told him to focus, to get his head in the game. Eventually York had pulled away totally, shooting ahead to grab the data file and call in for extraction with a backwards glance for Wash, his eyebrows furrowed beneath his helmet.

The flight back had been painfully silent.

 

***

 

Wash was sitting on his bed, head buried in his hands. His scent had managed to break through the usually overbearing petrol stink and what could be scented was a bitter sour mixture that was enough to keep most of the other Freelancers away. It was exactly what Wash wanted.

So when the metal door slid open with a quiet hiss of hydraulics he looked up, startled.

His plan had been to wallow in self pity for a few hours before going to train, but with Carolina standing in his doorway, hand sitting on a cocked hip made him shrink back. Maybe a whole day of self pity then.

“Carolina.”

“Wash,” She pinpointed him with a level stare. He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her. “We need to do group combat training.”

Wash pulled a face. A parody of a smile, more of a grimace with teeth bared. “I don’t think I’ll participate.”

Carolina considered him for a moment. “If you don’t, you’ll have to go against me in hand to hand  _ unarmed  _ combat.”

Wash flinched, pulling his knees to his chest, glaring at the floor. His sour scent poured off him in waves.

“You wouldn’t.” he muttered.

Carolina laughed, loud and clear in the small room.

“Or maybe I’ll get Maine to carry you out to the training floor like this.”

Wash groaned, burying his head in his hands, grinding the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

“Just what I need,” he smiled wryly. “More humiliation.”

Carolina’s scent changed in an instant. Her scent staled, rankled, like stagnant lake water that had been sitting too long.

Wash peeked through his fingers at her, noticing with vague discomfort that she seemed to be struggling to say something, a variety  of emotions flickering across her face before her features lightened.

“The only one who gets to humiliate you is me.” Carolina riffed, a small grin curving her lips.

Wash scoffed. “Well I don’t know. York seems to be doing your job pretty damn well.”

Carolina’s voice, when she eventually spoke, was sharp.

“York? What is he doing?”

Wash felt as though he should be ejected into space right then and there, join Georgia’s fate to endlessly travel through the cosmos. At least then he wouldn’t be plagued by all these  _ emotions _ .

“He’s just been talking shit,” Wash explained, hoping a half truth would be enough to assuage Carolina’s temper.

It wasn’t.

“Look,” she said lowly. “Whatever you guys talk about, that’s not my business. But when it’s affecting you negatively, when you’re not coming to training. You’re risking the whole group’s futures. You need to beat it out of York, or he’ll just keep talking the same shit.”

Wash frowned. “Beat him?”

Carolina paused with a thoughtful smile. “Off, it worked for me.”

 

***

 

Wash had resigned himself to the fact that Carolina wouldn’t leave him alone until he went to the group combat training, so he trudged along behind her and could barely look at his teammates when they entered the training arena.

“Alright!” Carolina clapped her hands together. “Split into groups of two, and start initial combat. After that we’ll move onto equipment procedures.”

York had moved closer to the two while Carolina was speaking and grabbed Wash by the bicep, shooting him a grin.

“We’re having this out, Wash. Like an old married couple.”

Wash nodded stiffly, letting York drag him to a corner of the training arena, watching as Carolina took to the second floor.

So when York threw the first punch, he wasn’t as prepared as he should have been.

He ducked when he realised they were starting, York’s armoured knuckles glancing off the side of his helmet. He shifted forward, aiming to tackle his friend  _ mate?  _ **friend** but pulled back when York aimed a kick at his stomach.

Wash stumbled back, nearly losing his footing but using his leverage to twist himself around so that he was on the ground, rolling onto his side to get behind York, threading his arms underneath York’s armpits and gripping his head.

“Touche.” York quipped, swinging his leg up and back at an angle to weaken Wash’s knee, slipping out from Wash’s grasp and jabbing him lightly in the throat and the bottom of his helmet.

“Dead.” York said smugly. Wash growled, an unusual sound for an Omega, ignoring how his own body had flared at the proximity. York’s helmet tilted, a question, before Carolina cleared those with equipment functions to begin training over the loudspeaker.

The rest of them cleared off, moving up to the balcony to watch the rest of the training.

Carolina grinned at Wash when he removed his helmet, an angry red scrape along the line of his cheekbone.

“So you can’t quite beat it out of him.” She observed.

Wash shrugged, rubbing at the irritated skin with a wince.

“Guess not.” He murmured.

“But you feel better.”

“I suppose so.” the raw skin and fresh feelings of humiliation agitated Wash, his fingers itching to rip into something.

“Why don’t I get you some healing gel from the med centre and I’ll meet you in your room.” Carolina smiled at him, clearly feeling sorry for him.

Wash nodded and made his way back to his room after peeling his armour off and showering his sweat away.

When he got there his nose scrunched at the bitter acridness of his scent. It had staled in his absence, clouding the room with something Wash didn’t want to focus on.

“Hey,” Carolina’s voice made him startle, clutching onto the door frame.

“Hi.” He deadpanned. Carolina chuckled, gripping his forearm and hauling him into the room, pushing him on the bed and pulling the healing gel out of her track suit pocket.

“Here, this should take the sting away and leave it less red.” She didn’t hand him the tube, rather squatted in front of him, unscrewing the cap and squeezing a dollop onto her finger.

Wash’s heart thudded in his chest as she edged closer, eyes squinting as her finger neared his cheek.

“Now hold still, this might sting a bit.”

He was hyper aware of how her thighs were brushing his calves, how her shirt conformed to the curves of her body. Her scent, too, lured him - deep and earthy, much like a forest after heavy rain, a clean refreshed world.

_ Alpha. Submit. Need. Lust. _

His heart beat faster, threatening to climb into his throat. His fingers trembled, so he clenched them into fists in his lap, not noticing when Carolina finally swiped the salve over his scraped skin.

His eyelids flickered when the sting bit into the sensitive flesh of his injury, noticing with only half a mind that Carolina hadn’t leaned away, but was staring intently at him.

With a great amount of restraint, Wash smiled at her, making as if to get up.

Carolina’s hand shot out and clamped onto his thigh, prompting a whine to leave Wash’s throat. He struggled under her intense scrutiny, blood flowing hot at the harsh pressure of her hand.

“Whenever you need me, Wash,” She smiled easily, as if she wasn’t causing Wash to have an aneurysm. “I’ll be there.” 


End file.
